Follow by Email

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

In February 1989, Iran's
Ayatollah Khomeini issued a death sentence -or fatwa- against the British author Salman Rushdie. Rushdie’s crime
was to have written a book -The Satanic Verses- that was perceived to have been
overly critical of Islam. As a result, he had to be given round-the-clock
police protection and was forced to go into hiding. He currently lives in North
America, but the fatwa has been
re-affirmed several times and, as recently as 2016, more money was added to the
bounty on offer for killing him.

At the height of the book
burnings and riots, some commentators felt that a vigorous response from the western
authorities would have been not just appropriate, but necessary. Instead of apologising
for this author’s ‘blasphemy’ and waiting for the heat to die down, I thought that
we should have printed thousands of copies of The Satanic Verses (a rather dreary
book, it has to be said) and distributed them free in schools, libraries and
health centre waiting rooms. We should have filled huge skips with the offending
books and left them in every town centre, just to make a point. We should, at
the very least, have been confident and assertive enough to have made it clear that
intellectual freedom was the bedrock of our civilisation. We should, at the
very least, have given this message to the medievalists: Feel free to practise
whichever religion you want, believe whichever ancient fairy stories you like,
but do it in peace; do not seek to impose your rules on people who do not share
your beliefs. If we’d made our position clear at the time, we might have saved
ourselves a whole heap of trouble.

The fact that our political and
cultural leaders have continually shirked from their responsibilities to
protect ideals we’re supposed to hold dear is not the fault of crazy fundamentalists
like the Manchester bomber Salman Abedi. Contrary to what some people appear to
believe, crazy fundamentalists have been around for centuries; Islamists were at
it long before there was any such thing as British and American foreign policy
to be outraged by, long before there was any such thing as the United States of
America. In a world in which history books
are readily available, it is, therefore, puzzling to explain the desire to
interpret the actions of murderous Islamists as anything other than what they
are. Some folk will use anything -literally anything-
as a stick with which to beat the capitalist world; others may be in denial
about their fear, preferring to disguise it as social conscience. There is too,
somewhere in this unholy mix, a generous dollop of good old-fashioned condescension
of the kind that denies agency to the terrorists. To claim that we don’t know why they do such things is to ignore the
fact that they always tell us exactly
why they do such things. Instead of imagining and ascribing a range of politically
palatable motives, we should perhaps accept the obvious ones: That they want to
kill us because they hate us and our way of life; that they want to kill us
because they are members of a barbaric medieval death cult.

But for all their shortcomings,
crazy fundamentalists do tend to notice when people cave in to pressure and they
will have noticed that, since 1989, we have been doing quite a lot of caving
in. In the post-‘Satanic Verses’ landscape, who knows how many authors and
journalists have excised characters, themes or lines from their stories and
articles because they feared reprisals from Islamists? You might argue that it
is impossible to quantify things that only might have existed, but we have
clear evidence that our cultural landscape has been altered to accommodate certain
cultural ‘sensitivities’. In the world that existed on the day before the fatwa was issued against Rushdie, it
would not have been considered controversial or dangerous for a British citizen
to have, say, published an image of the prophet Mohammed. But in 2017, how many mainstream
newspapers or TV stations would publish or broadcast a cartoon of the prophet?
That’s not a difficult question to answer, because it was revealed to us two
years ago, in the wake of the Charlie Hebdo massacre, when nobody had the guts to publish some cartoons and
say: ’This is what all the fuss is about’. Of course, lots of folk
composed eloquent editorials declaring their abhorrence of intimidation and
violence and their ‘unshakeable belief’ in our rights to freedom of speech, but
-for the sake of not offending sensibilities- they decided against publishing
the cartoons. David Dimbleby revealed that it was official BBC policy that: “the
prophet Mohammed should not be represented in any shape or form” and even a
right-leaning newspaper like The Telegraph only printed a pixelated image of one
cartoon in order to avoid causing offence.

Consider, therefore, the enormity of the cultural shift that has taken place since 1989: In
the 21st century, western atheists now choose to adhere to rules
previously only imposed upon folk who, through an accident of birth, are guided
by the revelations of a man who (according to legend) was visited by an angel
in his cave in the desert some 1400 years ago. If western atheists can’t bring
themselves to blaspheme, what hope is there for those in the Muslim community
who believe that Islam’s reformation is long overdue? Wouldn’t just a modicum
of bravery on our part light a torch for those who hope to reform that
religion from within?

But instead of showing bravery, we’ve been busy drawing and re-drawing our lines in the
sand. Having first got ourselves acclimatised to the idea that a British author
might have to go into hiding because of the ‘actions’ of one of his fictional
characters, we then got acclimatised to the reality that a secular European film
maker (Theo van Gogh) could be murdered for making a film critical of the
treatment of women within Islam. But
don’t worry, we were told. The terrorists
won’t win; we’ll get on with business as usual. And when some French journalists got slaughtered, we got acclimatised
to the notion that we shouldn’t publish ‘offensive’ cartoons. But don’t worry, we were told.
The terrorists won’t win; we’ll get on with business as usual. Now we’re acclimatising to the idea (recently articulated
by the Mayor of London) that terrorist attacks are just a part of modern life. But don’t worry. The terrorists
won’t win; we’ll get on with business as usual.

Then, sooner or later, we’ll hear
the initial reports of ‘an incident’ and we’ll know in our gut exactly what is
going on and who will be responsible. Details will be sketchy and the official
news sources won’t want us jumping to conclusions, but –gradually- the bloody details
will begin to emerge. Until the moment of awful confirmation, we’ll pray that
the body count won’t be that high. Then, once it has become impossible to deny
that it is what we knew it would be, the all-too-familiar dance will begin. We’ll
pretend once more to speculate about the motives. Did the assailant act alone?
Did he have links to any known terrorist groups? Was he part of a bigger network? What could
have driven him to this? And before they have even finished scraping up the
body parts, some commentators will issue warnings about how this ‘might provoke
a backlash’, fantasising about imagined nastiness as opposed to absorbing the actual
reality of murder. The ‘might provoke a backlash’ commentators will believe, contrary
to the available evidence, that we are pitchfork-wielding savages, ready to
burn stuff down and string people up at the drop of a hat; in these
circumstances, we are told, we shouldn’t get angry, because that’s what the
terrorists want. Yes, how terribly unsophisticated
we must be to get angry about, for example, a bunch of silly teenagers getting
blown up at a pop concert.

Then we'll go to our candlelit
vigils, we’ll have our observed silences, we’ll change our avatars and hashtags
and we’ll do a bit of community singing (and maybe that guy with the blue piano
will be there to play ‘Imagine’). And while all of this is going on, some people
will get more worked up about a professional polemicist like Katie Hopkins than
they will about bodies being scraped off a pavement.

And our
leaders will say: Don’t worry. We’ll get on with business as usual. The
terrorists won’t win.

But to people
like Salman Abedi, what exactly is there to be won? And what does winning look like?

About Me

A few years ago, I promised that I would never start a blog; this is it.
On this blog, I plan to respond to real (or imagined) slights by posting coruscating put-downs of my enemies, competitors and -occasionally- friends. I also plan to maintain the acrimonious simmering of a series of longstanding grudges and petty disputes.
But mainly, the blog will faithfully record a pointless and pedestrian series of idle musings, attempted libels and ill-considered theories about popular culture, sport, politics, music and the meaning of life.
For the last couple of years, I've been writing about an album I'm recording; yes, it's nearly finished.
The views represented on this blog are not necessarily endorsed by the author, unless they are.